


Hoping For Peace

by afteriwake



Series: A Little Holmes [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has not quite gotten over the events that cost Irene her life, and he goes to her grave hoping to get some closure. He knows that talking to a grave will not get him the answers he hopes for, but perhaps it will bring him peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoping For Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Finally picking this series back up again! Hopefully I can get back to it more frequently...

He did not know why he had come. Well, he knew, of course. He wanted to make his peace with things. But realistically he knew talking to a gravestone would not let her hear him in any tangible way. He did not believe in ghosts, he did not believe that souls lingered after death. He believed that when a person died they died, but John had said perhaps it might be best if he went and had the chat, and he was going to defer to his friend in hopes that he was right.

“Hello, Irene,” he said quietly as he laid the roses on her tombstone. That had been Molly’s idea, when he told her what he was doing. Someone else had left flowers a while back, at some point after the funeral but at least a week prior, considering their dry and shriveled state. He debated taking them out of the holder but he had no clue where to put them in any case so he simply left them. “I have been told it would be good to come here and talk to you. I don’t know why, because you’re dead and you obviously can’t hear me, but I'll try nonetheless.”

He glanced over at their daughter, who he had set down to his left. She was not crawling around like he had expected, instead pulling grass up in her hands. He could have left Abigail with Molly or John, but he had decided to bring her. He moved over to her and knelt down, ruffling her hair slightly before standing and looking at the grave again. “I would say that you can see Abigail is doing well, but you can’t see anything so you’ll have to take my word for it. She’s a year and a half old tomorrow, and she is happy. That's what you wanted, so I am glad for that.”

Abigail moved over and pulled his pants leg and he glanced at her. She lifted her arms up and he knelt down to pick her up. She rested her head on his shoulder once he got a firm grip. “John has moved out,” he continued. "We're going to use his old room as the room for Abigail and our new child, provided it is a girl. But he is happy with Mary, and they are settling into a good life together. He still helps me with cases, for which I am grateful, and he is still my closest friend. I do not know what I would have done if I lost that.”

“Dada?” Abigail asked

“Yes?” he replied, turning to look at her. She reached up and pulled his hair. “Abigail, let go of my hair or I will have to set you down.”

Abigail didn’t let go of his hair, and after a moment he pried her fingers away. He set her down on the ground again and he watched as she walked over to the tombstone, touching it. He watched her for a moment before speaking again. “Molly’s pregnancy is going well. She is nearly five months along now, and so far everything seems to be going smoothly. She is content, and quite excited for the child. We decided we wanted to know the sex of the child, and so when we see the doctor next week for the sonogram we'll know. She is hoping for a daughter, while I would like a son. But both of us will be happy with either one.”

He knelt down again, keeping an eye on Abigail. “It's strange, talking about Molly now, with you. I love her. I do not think I ever could have let myself feel love if it hadn't been for Abigail. You leaving her with me was the best thing to have happened to me. Molly knows that and does not resent either you or Abigail, and I am grateful for that. You not being there is what allowed my relationship with her to unfold, and it has also made me a better man. I do not think we could have had that, but I suppose now we'll never know.”

This was the part he had hoped would help, posing the thoughts he had to the universe at large. “There are so many things we did not get to talk about, so many questions that I had. I know you distanced yourself from us to keep Abigail safe, but when she is older I know she will have questions, questions I am unable to answer. I hate this. If she is anything like me she is going to want answers, and your journals only leave a few of them.” He paused. “I do not know if you intended for me to have them, but everyone involved thought it would be best for Abigail. I'm inclined to agree.”

“Dada hug?” Abigail asked, turning and holding her arms out again.

“Are you going to pull my hair again?” he asked, going over to his daughter.

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“All right, then,” he said, picking her up. She put her arms around his neck and he hugged her close. The fact that he could, that the woman whose grave he was at had given her life so that it was possible, was something he cherished. It had weighed on him heavily in the time since her death, the sacrifice she had made, because there were days he felt he did not deserve it. He had had months with their daughter and she had only had weeks. It wasn’t right.

“I know why you did it,” he said softly, looking at the grave. “I know why you did it and one day I will fully accept it, but it’s not fair that I get so much time with Abigail and you got so little. Even if you had remained in hiding it might have worked. Mycroft might have been able to find your enemies and neutralize them. You could have had more time. And now you can’t.”

“Sad?” Abigail asked.

“I am a little sad, yes,” he said as his daughter let go and he looked at her. “Do you want to say good-bye now?”

She turned and waved at the grave. “Bye-bye, Irie.”

“Good-bye, Irene,” he said quietly, nodding to the grave. Then he turned and picked up Abigail’s car seat and left. It had not helped as much as he would have liked, but he took comfort in the fact that even if Irene could not hear him, even if she never knew, he had spoken the words he was afraid to voice. And maybe that, in the end, would be what helped him fully move on from all of this and start his life anew.


End file.
